I KNOW not how to call you light,
Since I myself was lighter;
Nor can you blame my changing plight
Who were the first inviter.

I know not which began to range
Since we were never constant;
And each when each began to change
Was found a weak remonstrant.

But this I know, the God of Love
Both shake his hand against us,
And scorning says we ne’er did prove
True passion—but pretences.

The Master-Chord

LIKE a musician that with flying finger
Startles the voice of some new instrument,
And, though he know that in one string are blent
All its extremes of sound, yet still doth linger
Among the lighter threads, fearing to start
The deep soul of that one melodious wire,
Lest it, unanswering, dash his high desire,
And spoil the hopes of his expectant heart;
Thus, with my mistress oft conversing, I
Stir every lighter theme with careless voice,
Gathering sweet music and celestial joys
From the harmonious soul o’er which I fly;
Yet o’er the one deep master-chord I hover,
And dare not stoop, fearing to tell—I love her.